


wounds in us

by gothyringwald



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 06:11:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19987426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: As much as part of Steve aches to, he doesn’t go to Billy.It’s not like that between them. Not anymore.Steve and Billy had known each other once. But that was over before what happened during the summer. As they pick up the pieces of their lives, is that one that they can put back together?





	wounds in us

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags suggest, this is non-linear but it just alternates between present and flashback so I think that’s not too wacky. (And I’ve labelled which is which).
> 
> Thanks to socknonny for looking this over for me <333
> 
> Title is from the poem “Absence” by Pablo Neruda:
> 
> “We found each other  
> hungry  
> and we bit each other  
> as fire bites,  
> leaving wounds in us.
> 
> But wait for me,   
> Keep for me your sweetness.  
> I will give you too   
> A rose. ” 
> 
> (This is just an excerpt, not the full poem)

NOW

The first time Steve sees Billy all summer is when he crashes into Billy's Camaro. He's not thinking about anything except getting his friends out of harm's way. Not thinking about Billy at all except as someone—something—his friends need to be saved from. Adrenaline leads the way and everything else takes a backseat.

It's not until later, when they're out of fireworks, and there's nothing Steve can do but watch from above, that his brain kicks in and it finally hits him that this possessed Billy and _his_ Billy are one and the same. 

That's when his stomach turns and his legs feel like lead and jelly at the same time. There must be something he can do to help but all he can do is watch.

Watch as Billy leans over El, close and menacing. Watch as El touches Billy's face, says something that makes Billy stand and turn toward the Mind Flayer. Watch Billy face this monster down with no fucking hope of winning. Watch and think, _he's going to die, I'm going to watch him die_ , and even though he heaved his guts up not two hours ago he thinks he might puke again.

Steve's heart fucking stops and he's gripping the bannister and _watching_ and he can't move and it wouldn't do any good if he could, anyway. But then the Mind Flayer flails and it's dying and Billy collapses, like a puppet with its strings cut. Max rushes to Billy and shakes him and Steve still can't breathe because he's too far away. 

Everything's too far away.

His ears are ringing and he feels hollowed out and they've won, he guesses, but he can't breathe. Because Billy isn't moving and Steve is too far away. 

But then Billy finally lifts a shaking hand to Max and Max is crying tears of relief, now, not fear and—

'He's alive,' Steve breathes.

'What?' Robin asks, coming up beside him.

'Nothing,' Steve says, tearing his gaze from Billy, and turning toward Robin. He's thinking of Billy downstairs, lying in the wreckage, Max by his side, and hopes he's okay.

But as much as part of him aches to, he doesn't go to Billy. 

It's not like that between them. Not anymore.

THEN

Rain lashes the windows as Steve stumbles into class and slides into his seat at the back. He can't stop worrying at the flap of skin inside his cheek where teeth had met flesh as flesh met fist only a week ago. It hurts, but it's a sweet kind of pain and so he can't stop, even though it keeps the wound open.

At the desk next to Steve's, Billy is swinging on his chair, chewing a pen that's seen better days. He's watching Steve the way he always does—Max's threat may have stopped Billy's…whatever he was doing with Steve leading up to their fight, but it hasn't stopped Billy _looking_. 

Steve gets his pen and notebook out, keeping his eyes down, but he can feel Billy's gaze like a tangible thing, heavy and hot on the side of his face. He turns to Billy, glancing around to see if anyone's paying attention to them, and says, 'What's your problem, man?'

'Nothing,' Billy says, almost sing-song.

'Then quit it.'

'Quit what?'

'Staring at me,' Steve hisses.

The legs of Billy's chair land with a thunk. 'Don't flatter yourself, Harrington. I've got better things to look at.'

'Are you kidding?' Steve splutters. 'You were—' His voice is rising and he cuts himself off before he makes a scene. It's the last thing he needs. 'Whatever. Just…eyes front, OK?'

Billy snorts and gives Steve a little salute. Steve flushes.

A few moments of peace and then, 'Hey, Harrington.'

Steve ignores Billy, pretends he's reading the book in front of him, waiting for the bell to ring.

'Harrington.'

Steve isn't going to turn around. He isn't.

A wad of paper hits the side of his face. 'What do you want?' Steve turns, finally, hands clenched on his book.

Billy is leaning across the space between their desks. His gaze maps the bruises on Steve's face. They've faded to a lurid green-yellow, stark against the unmarred parts of Steve's skin. For a moment, something Steve can't read flashes in Billy's eyes but then it's gone. 'Good luck on the test.'

Shit. 'What—' Steve starts but then the teacher comes in and his stomach sinks. He forgot about the test. 

_Shit._

The teacher hands the test papers out; Steve stares at his, mind crackling with static and no answers.

Another piece of paper hits him and he turns. Billy's angled his paper so Steve can see his answers.

Suspicious of a trap, Steve shakes his head minutely, waving Billy away. But another piece of paper hits him and Billy edges the paper over more insistently. Steve glances at him, chewing on his lip, then starts scrawling the answers onto his own sheet.

But then the teacher clears her throat, eyebrow arched, and Steve snaps his gaze back to his own paper where it remains for the rest of the period. 

He fails the test but it is Billy's seeming act of kindness that leaves him dazed.

NOW

'That's five dollars.'

These are the first words Steve says to Billy in nearly six months. He's an asshole.

It's not the first time he's seen Billy since what went down at the mall in summer—he's glimpsed him around town, pale and gaunt, dark circles under his eyes, a man no longer possessed but haunted all the same—but it's the first time they've met face to face. The first time they've talked.

Billy had walked into the video store ten minutes ago, headed straight for the horror section like it was second nature, then paused. He'd looked so lost that Steve's breath had caught and he'd wanted to go over to him, do something. But he didn't. Only watched as Billy shook himself and headed for the comedy shelves, instead, approaching the counter moments later, still looking like he'd been to hell and back. Steve supposes he has.

And all Steve can say is, 'That's five dollars,' when Billy hands over his membership card and a copy of _The Jerk_.

But what else is there to say? _Sorry I didn't notice you were possessed by a shadow monster from another dimension, but we haven't spoken since graduation, and it's not like that's my fault?_ It's not Steve's fault, no matter how shitty he feels.

Billy looks up at Steve and though there's only a foot between them, it feels like a hundred. He's wearing a black leather jacket—a new one, not yet broken in—and his hair is almost but not quite perfect again, but he doesn't look like the Billy Steve remembers. 

That Billy would have twisted his face into something mean, or challenging, or suggestive, depending on his mood. This Billy silently hands over the money and takes his video and card. The fluorescent lights catch the silvery scars on his palms. They weren't there when he and Steve—

Their fingers don't brush, but Steve imagines he can feel the warmth, the roughness, of Billy's touch all the same. It twists in his chest.

Before he steps back from the counter Billy pauses, looks Steve right in the eyes and says, 'See you around, Harrington,' and then he turns away.

'Yeah,' Steve says, 'sure.'

He watches as Billy walks out of the store and disappears from view, his ears ringing and his heart thundering.

THEN

There's music in the air, echoing in Steve's ears and grating on his nerves. He's got a cigarette in one hand, beer in the other; the bricks at his back leech cold through his jacket and shirt. It's freezing, too fucking cold to be outside, but it was suffocating inside. He shouldn't have come to the party.

Billy Hargrove is here, of course, had been watching when Steve was turned down by Vicki. It would have been humiliating enough on its own, but earlier Steve's dad had chewed him out about his grades, his future, his family name, and all he wants is to get shit-faced and forget about everything.

So, of course, Billy saunters around the corner of the house and stands right next to Steve.

'What do you want?' Steve asks on a sigh.

Billy grins at him, all teeth and tongue, and swipes first Steve's cigarette and then his beer. 'Saw you strike out with Vicki,' Billy says around his—Steve's—cigarette. 'Too bad. She's a good lay.'

Of course Billy's made it with her. Steve grits his teeth. 'Yeah, well, clearly she has shitty taste.'

Billy snorts. He tips his head back, the long column of his throat arrowing into the v of his unbuttoned shirt.

'What do you want, Hargrove?' Steve asks again. The silence prickles under his skin, an itch he has to scratch. He looks sidelong at Billy, and his breath stutters when Billy's gaze catches on his. 'If you're looking for a rematch or something, I'm not in the mood.'

'I don't want a rematch, pretty boy,' Billy says, 'just the pleasure of your company.' He winks at Steve and Steve's stomach flips over.

Moonlight catches Billy's earring, draws Steve's gaze to a cut on his bottom lip.

Steve frowns. Maybe Billy's already been in a fight—not at the party or Steve would have known—but there are no bruises on his knuckles. No signs Billy fought back. Something about it sits wrong in Steve but his head is muzzy and he can't figure what it might mean, so he says, 'Then what do you want?'

A smile winds its way onto Billy's lips. He runs his tongue along his teeth and looks at Steve. 'Something stronger than beer.'

There's vodka inside and god knows what else, but Steve doesn't point this out. Instead he says, 'My dad has whisky,' slowly, 'and my parents aren't home,' like he's testing the words as he says them.

Billy's smile turns almost feral but somehow Steve can tell it's more real than usual. He crushes the cigarette and pushes away from the wall, one thumb hooked in his jeans. 'Then lead on, Harrington.' He thumps Steve on the shoulder, then strides into the night.

Steve stumbles forward, muttering something about how he walked because his house is only a street over, and leads the way to his house and into his dad's liquor cabinet.

In the back of his mind, Steve knows this is crazy. A couple of months ago, Billy beat the shit out of him, wouldn't have stopped if Max hadn't stopped him. And here they are, drinking his dad's most expensive whisky, sprawled on his living room floor like this is normal. Like they're friends. 

But this Billy, all loose and almost calm, doesn't feel like the Billy who beat Steve up. He feels like someone Steve could be friends with. 

Or maybe that's just the whisky.

'What're you doing after graduation?' Billy slurs, halfway through the bottle.

Steve shrugs. 'No idea.' He doesn't want to talk about this—he doesn't want to talk about this—but all the same he turns the question back on Billy: 'You?'

'I'm getting a job and saving up to get out of this shit hole,' Billy says, decisively.

A pang of _something_ shoots through Steve, but he doesn't know why. He takes a long pull of his drink and wipes his mouth. 'Where are you going to go?'

'Anywhere I want, pretty boy.' Billy tilts his head back, looking at Steve along the line of his nose. 'Anywhere I want.'

NOW

A hand smacks onto the table by Steve's elbow; Steve startles, knocking his drink, sticky pop dripping onto his lap. 'What the fuck—' He looks up and the words stick in his throat.

Billy is leaning over the table, looking down at Steve, half-amused, half-apologetic. But beneath it still drawn out, still haunted. Steve wonders if he'll always look like that. If he'll ever be the same.

A chipper pop song filters out of the jukebox at the back of the diner, muted by the chatter of people and the clatter of dishes. Billy reaches across Steve, pulling a wad of napkins from the metal holder, and shoves them into Steve's hand. 'You might wanna get that,' he says, jutting his chin at the puddle of cherry cola.

Steve blinks at him and mutely takes the napkins. He's talked to Billy a few times since that first day at the video store but not enough to make sense of whatever is happening right now.

'Thanks,' Steve says, face warm. 'How, uh, how are you?' he asks, not sure what else to say.

But Billy only says, 'You're getting soda all over you,' raising a brow.

Steve shakes himself, mopping at the table and his lap, napkins going soggy and breaking apart in his hands. He grimaces.

Through it all, Billy is standing by the table, watching Steve. He chews on his thumbnail, eyes dipping. 'Harrington,' he says. Clears his throat. 'Steve.'

Steve's heart stutters. It's been a long time since Billy's said his name, and even back then it was a rare thing. He sets the napkins aside, looks up at Billy, who shifts his weight with a frown. 'Billy, is everything OK?' Maybe something's happened, maybe something's wrong, maybe it's not all over—

Steve takes a deep breath. Maybe Billy only wants…what, exactly?

'Yeah,' Billy says, licking his lips. 'Peachy. I just wanted to—'

Steve never finds out what Billy wanted, because that's when Robin comes back from the bathroom. She slides into the booth across from Steve, giving Billy a wary glance and says, 'Hi,' slowly.

'I forgot about you,' Billy says, face shuttering.

Robin's eyebrows shoot up. '…OK?' She looks to Steve, as though for some kind of explanation, but he's just as lost as she is.

'Do you wanna join us?' Steve asks, hoping Robin won't mind. Every time Billy comes into the store, Steve wants to ask Billy to hang out, catch a movie, play some ball, do _something_. But he's never been able to find the words. Tonight they spill out, eager to fill the silence.

'No,' Billy says, stepping back from the table. He looks at Robin, back to Steve. 'Enjoy your date.' And then he turns and stalks out of the diner.

'Wait,' Steve says but Billy's already gone. 

'What just happened?' Robin asks, leaning across the table, eyes wide with bemusement.

Steve turns back to her. There's a feeling in his gut, something tugging at the back of his mind, something maybe like hope, but it slips away before he can grasp it. He shakes his head and says, 'I have no fucking clue.'

THEN

'Give me that.' Billy reaches for the last slice of pizza, just as Steve plucks it from the box.

The flickering blue light of the television throws dancing shadows over the room. Steve laughs, trying his best to hold the pizza out of Billy's reach, even as the greasy crust slips in his hold and congealing cheese threatens to slide off the edge. 'No, it's mine.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah,' Steve says.

'That's what you think.' Billy lunges across the couch, eyes narrowed, but Steve dodges. Only he overbalances and ends up on the floor, flat on his back, pizza held victoriously aloft.

'Ow,' he says, but he's laughing. Can't stop. 

Billy takes advantage of Steve's distraction and pounces on him, knees either side of his hips, and swipes the pizza from his grasp. He shoves the entire slice into his mouth, smacking his lips as he chews, and wiping his greasy fingers on his jeans.

'Gross,' Steve says, between subsiding huffs of laughter.

'You think that's gross?' Billy says, but it's around a mouthful of pizza, so it comes out more like, 'Ju fink thash grosh?' He opens his mouth wide, the blob of half-chewed dough and cheese balanced precariously on his tongue.

'Don't you dare.' Steve shoves at Billy, but Billy grabs his hands, pinning them to the floor either side of Steve's head. 

'Yield,' Billy says.

Tiny sparks of electricity tingle up Steve's arms, starting where Billy is holding his hands, skittering all the way up to his collarbones. Steve swallows. 'Get off of me.'

'Fucking yield, Harrington,' Billy says, voice still muffled by the pizza he's threatening to spit on Steve. He's playing, Steve knows, but there's an edge of seriousness to it. Like even though he's fooling around, he has to win.

'Fine,' Steve says, flushing, 'I yield.'

Billy grins, and swallows the pizza, but he doesn't move. His thumbs press into the middle of Steve's palms, his weight settles on Steve's hips.

The carpet is rough on the back of Steve's hands, at the small of his back where his shirt has ridden up. It itches but he tries not to shift because Billy's weight on top of him, the warmth of him seeping right into Steve, send heat pooling far far too low. Fuck.

He should _not_ have a boner from wrestling with Billy but he does and if Billy doesn't move soon he's going to realise and Billy might be looking at him with heat in his eyes but it doesn't _mean_ anything and Steve doesn't want to get punched in the face, right now.

Billy shifts, finally, and Steve almost lets out a sigh of relief. He's safe. Except somehow Billy ends up with one thigh wedged between Steve's, pressed right against—

Oh no.

'Well, well, well,' Billy says, eyes twinkling. He presses forward and, okay, that's interesting. 'What's this? Does Harrington have a hard-on?'

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. 'It's just, you know, friction?'

'Sure,' Billy says. A beat of charged silence and then, 'So, you're not turned on, right now?'

'Um.'

'Harrington,' Billy says, voice low, laced with danger. Steve opens his eyes and his breath catches. Billy rocks forward. 'Does this turn you on?'

'Yes,' Steve breathes.

Billy's grin catches flame and one moment his hand is holding onto Steve's, the next he's shoving it between them, cupping it around Steve's cock through his jeans. 

The pressure is too much and not enough and Steve bucks up without meaning to, chasing the edge of a thrill. 'Oh, fuck.' He sees stars when Billy presses down with the heel of his palm. 'What are you—' He licks his lips, eyes darting to the outline of Billy's cock in his jeans. 'Are you?'

'Why don't you see for yourself?' Billy asks, cocky as ever, with his tongue between his teeth and that crooked grin, but his eyes are wide. Almost uncertain.

Emboldened by the openness of Billy's gaze, Steve slides his hand down Billy's chest, over his stomach, to grab Billy through his jeans, mirroring Billy's hold on him. It's fucking heady when Billy pushes into his palm, eyes sliding shut on a tangled moan.

'Jesus Christ, Harrington,' Billy says. He's breathing hard, one hand squeezed tight over Steve's cock, the other still pinning Steve's to the carpet.

Their legs are entwined, and their faces are so close. If Steve wanted to, he could—

He could—

He frees his hand from Billy's hold and then he yanks Billy down, hand fisted in his hair, and kisses him. Hard.

It's all clashing teeth and bitten lips, Billy's tongue catching on Steve's, the taste of pizza and beer shared between them. Steve has been kissed plenty of times, but he's not sure he's ever been kissed like this. That he's ever kissed anyone like this. Like it's a competition. And Steve doesn't care who wins.

His hand twists in Billy's hair and Billy's teeth scrape his tongue and Steve keens. Maybe he shouldn't like it this much but the thought is distant. Fading away with Billy above him, tightening his hand over Steve, rolling his hips down into Steve's palm, searching for friction. Steve throws his head back.

Fuck. This is going to ruin him.

'Shit.' Billy plants both hands either side of Steve's head when Steve hooks his leg around Billy's, fits his hands to the curve of Billy's ass, and squeezes. ' _Shit_ ,' he says and kisses Steve again and again and again.

Steve smiles against Billy's mouth and urges Billy to shift, press closer, until their hips are flush and their cocks grind together through two layers of denim. They should maybe take this to his room, or at least take their pants off, but it feels too good to stop for even that long.

Billy bites the sensitive spot below Steve's pulse point and sucks. It's going to leave a mark but Steve doesn't _care_.

'Billy,' Steve breathes out, and, 'Fuck.'

A muffled groan works its way out of Billy and he kisses his way back to Steve's mouth. His tongue is hot and searching and his hips thrust faster and faster into Steve's.

Everything narrows to the space on the living room rug where they kiss and touch and rock against each other. Heat is building at the base of Steve's spine and he's going to come in his pants, he knows it, and maybe that should be embarrassing but he can care about that later. And then his orgasm rips through him, leaving him quaking and breathless.

Above him, Billy shudders, biting down on Steve's collarbone through his shirt. Steve feels impossibly hotter realising that Billy has come, too, because of him. Billy pants into Steve's neck, breath hot and wet, before rolling off and landing beside Steve with a soft thud.

The world comes back slowly to Steve—the carpet beneath him, the wetness in his jeans, his shuddering breaths.

What the fuck just happened? Did he just _do it_ with Billy Hargrove, on his living room floor?

Steve looks over at Billy, panting and flushed beside him, and fists a hand in his hair. Yeah, that's what just happened. 'Oh shit,' he says.

Billy throws his head back, laughing, and says, 'No kidding.'

NOW

The secret Steve has kept for months, the one he shares with Billy, circles closer to the surface every day. He's kept pushing it down and down and down, but now it buoys up, clawing from the depths of him, and he doesn't know if he can submerge it again. Doesn't know if he wants to.

It was easy to keep it when there was no one to tell, but now—

'Robin,' Steve says.

'Steve.'

Steve sets his feet on the floor and leans forward, his leather armchair creaking with the movement. He sucks in a breath. 'Robin.'

'Dingus,' Robin says, this time, with a hint of amusement. But when she looks up at Steve from the magazine she's been idly flipping through—sitting on Steve's bed, with her feet tucked under her—her brow furrows.

'Can we'—Steve presses his lips together—'can we talk?'

'Sure.' Robin sets the magazine down, turning so she's facing Steve. She crosses her legs and rests her hands on her ankles, elbows on her knees. When Steve stays silent, she says, 'Did you have a particular topic in mind or is it an open floor?'

'Um.' There are about a hundred ways Steve could start this conversation. He should know, he's gone over each and every one since Robin told him about Tammy Thompson. He's thought about telling her so many times, but now that it's come to it he doesn't know what to say.

He could circle the topic, hoping Robin will get where he's going and fill in the blanks for him. He could not mention Billy at all, and tell Robin that he likes girls, he really does, but sometimes guys make him feel the same way girls do.

Or he could just say, 'I had sex with Billy.'

There. That will do it.

There's a beat of silence and then Robin repeats, 'Billy,' voice strange.

'Yeah.'

'A girl called Billie I've never met,' Robin says in a tone that suggests she already knows that's not the answer, 'or—'

'Hargrove,' Steve says, quickly. His face is hot and his hands are cold and he can't look at Robin. 'Billy Hargrove.'

'OK. Wow.' Robin laughs but it's not the way you laugh when something's funny. Steve wishes he could tell if it's in disbelief or if it's nerves or maybe relief. 'Wow. So you…?'

'Yeah.' Steve shifts in his chair. He'd thought he'd feel at ease after telling Robin, but the churning in his gut feels more like guilt. 'Are you pissed I didn't tell you sooner?' Steve worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

'No,' Robin says, emphatic. She spreads her hands. 'I'm just…surprised. I mean, Billy Hargrove.' She tips her head back. 'He was a bigger douchebag than you ever were.'

Steve huffs, looks at his hands hanging between his knees. 'Thanks.'

'Any time,' Robin says, scooting forward on the bed until she's sitting on the edge, feet on the floor, hands curled over the mattress. She ducks her head to meet Steve's gaze. 'Seriously, Steve. It's OK.'

'OK.' Some of the tension eases, and the churning in his stomach settles.

'So, was he your boyfriend, or was it just…' Robin scrunches her nose up. 'You know.'

Steve runs a hand over the back of his neck. 'He wasn't…' He sighs. 'He wasn't my boyfriend.'

Robin's voice is soft and too knowing when she says, 'But you wanted him to be.'

The alarm clock on Steve's bedside table buzzes, the mattress springs squeak as Robin shifts, Steve's heart thuds hard in his ears.

'I don't know,' Steve says and Robin gives him a look that says she doesn't believe him. Steve doesn't blame her—he doesn't even believe himself.

'Well,' Robin says, 'I guess I know why he always gives me those dirty looks.'

'What?'

'Didn't you see the stink-eye he gave me at the diner the other night? I thought he just hated me but maybe he was jealous.' Robin pauses, like she's considering her next words. 'Maybe he wants to get back together.'

'No way,' Steve says, breath catching, 'it wasn't like that.' Not for Billy.

'If you say so.'

The implication of Robin's words hits Steve hard. It twists in his gut, cold and hot at the same time. 'I—' Steve shakes his head and hugs his arms around his middle. He can't… 'Look, um, thanks. For listening. I wanted someone to know. Wanted you to know.' He looks up and his chest tightens at the sad, understanding smile Robin gives him. 'Keeping it to myself was…'

'I know.' Robin's hair falls into her face and she pushes it back behind her ear. She taps her foot against Steve's, smiles at him again, then shuffles back onto the bed. 'Hey, so, are we going to see _Clue_ on Friday night?'

Steve lets out a long breath. 'Yeah,' he says, 'sounds great.' But even as Robin's understanding—both of what he told her and that he can't talk anymore—settles the awful thing behind his ribs, her words clang in Steve's head.

Is Billy jealous? Could he want to get back together? Steve had always thought it was nothing more than fooling around, at least for Billy but—

No. Robin's wrong. Billy glares at a lot of people. It doesn't mean anything. It couldn't.

THEN

Steve's knees are fitted to the back of Billy's, Billy's thighs bracketing his. Sweat drips down Steve's back, along his nose; it slicks their skin and matts their hair.

The bedsprings creak, the sheets rustle, their breaths tremble. One of Steve's hands is entwined with Billy's, pressed to the mattress, knuckles white. Billy's cock is heavy in Steve's other hand, and he thrusts into Steve's fist as Steve thrusts into him.

It's the fifth time they've had sex—not that Steve is keeping count—but the first time like this. Steve had been surprised that Billy would want to be fucked, wondered if it meant that this thing between them might be more than he'd let himself hope. But it's probably not. It's probably just sex.

Fuck, it feels good, though. Steve is so close and Billy is making all these hot noises as Steve pushes him into the mattress. If Steve had any doubts that Billy would like this, they're gone with the way he tilts his hips back to meet each of Steve's thrusts.

In the same moment Steve thinks he can't last much longer he comes, hips stuttering, hand tightening on Billy. He presses his forehead between Billy's shoulder blades, breathing heavily.

'Fuck, sorry,' Steve says, lips brushing Billy's skin.

'Shut up,' Billy says and, 'Keep touching me,' and ' _Steve_ ,' and he comes over Steve's hand. He grunts under Steve, squeezes Steve's hand tight.

The sheets are a mess, and sweat is cooling on Steve's skin, leaving it feeling stretched too tight, but his bones feel like melted butter, and he doesn't want to move.

Billy shrugs his shoulder once, then twice, muttering, 'Get off of me, you lug,' but he sounds more amused than annoyed.

Steve hums, content, and rolls off of Billy, settling on his back. 'Fuck, that was good.' He glances over at Billy, who's rolled onto his back, too, chest heaving and glistening with sweat, hands folded behind his head. The lamp on Steve's bedside table casts a golden sheen to Billy's skin. Steve's breath catches.

'Yeah, it was,' Billy agrees, voice low and wrecked.

They lie side by side, not talking, not touching. Steve wants to reach out or say something but he can't make himself do either. Finally, he rolls onto his side, reaching out at the same moment Billy sits and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Steve's hand lands on the mattress. It's warm. He presses his lips together as he watches Billy stand, grab his jeans, turn from Steve. 'You don't have to go,' Steve says.

'It's late,' Billy says. The little hop he does as he pulls his jeans on makes something flutter behind Steve's ribs despite Billy's words.

'Exactly, so you can stay.' Steve clears his throat. 'If you want.'

Billy looks over at Steve, face blank, chews on his thumbnail. 'I don't do sleepovers.'

There's a churning in Steve's stomach. He pushes himself up, back against the headboard, sheets pooled around his hips. 'That's cool.' He runs a hand through his hair. 'I just—'

'You just what?' Billy shrugs his shirt on, straightens his collar. 'You wanna cuddle or something?'

'No, I—'

Billy leans over Steve, curls a hand around the side of his neck, and kisses him deep and slow. How can he kiss Steve like this and not— He pulls away and says, 'I'm not your boyfriend, Harrington.'

Heat prickles in Steve's throat. 'I know,' he says. He should leave it. Shut up. 'But that doesn't mean you can't…' _Shut up_. 'Forget it.'

'Sure.' Billy snorts and turns to grab his boots. He pulls them on, then walks away, pausing at Steve's door. His fingers are curled over the jamb, drumming a brisk rhythm, and he looks over at Steve. There's a moment where he hesitates and Steve thinks he might change his mind but he says, 'See you tomorrow, pretty boy,' with a wink, and then he's gone, footfalls growing quieter as he walks down the hall.

Steve flops back and pulls a pillow over his head. He can't figure Billy out. If all he wants is sex, then there have to be safer ways to get it than sneaking around with Steve. But if he wanted more…if he wanted more, wouldn't he stay? Say something?

Fuck.

The biggest question is, what does _Steve_ want?

He groans into his pillow. He has no fucking clue.

NOW

Water drips from Billy's hair, down his face, onto Steve's living room carpet. His clothes are soaked and he's shivering and it strikes Steve how _young_ he looks, right now.

'I would have come and got you if I'd known you were walking,' Steve says, handing Billy a towel.

'Yeah, well,' Billy says, clutching the towel but making no move to dry himself, 'no car.'

The memory of screeching tires and crunching metal fills Steve's mind. It turns his stomach, squeezes in his chest. 'Right.' He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair. 'Thanks for coming over. I wanted to talk to you.'

'You said. On the phone.' 

'Oh.' It had been a long time since Steve called Billy—back then he had to be careful not to call too often, or at certain times—but after talking with Robin the desire to see, to talk to Billy, was so strong he could barely think of anything else. But now that Billy is here, the words he wants to say stick in his throat. 'Do you want some coffee, or something? You must be cold.'

Billy glares at Steve. 'Just say what you want to say, Harrington. I haven't got all day.'

Steve doesn't point out that if Billy were as busy as his words suggest, he wouldn't have walked across town in the rain because Steve called and said he wanted to talk. Oh. Billy walked across town in the rain, just to talk to Steve. The thought braces him, so he takes a chance and says, 'What you and I had…did that ever mean anything to you?'

A heavy silence falls; Billy's glare deepens. 'Are you fucking with me, or something?'

'No, I—'

'You call me up, out of the blue, asking me to come all the way over to your house, to ask me _that_? Now?' Billy scoffs. 'What about your _girlfriend_?'

'My _what_?' Steve's heart thuds hard. 'I don't have a girlfriend, Billy.'

Billy blinks and shifts his weight. 'That chick you're always hanging around with.'

'Robin?' Steve laughs. Robin was right, then—Billy was jealous of her. Steve owes her. Big time. 'We're just friends.'

There's a beat of silence and then Billy is crowding Steve against the sofa, hand fisted in his shirt. The scant space between them crackles, charged with electricity, promising— Billy kisses Steve. It's hungry and desperate and everything Steve has tried not to want anymore. 

'Wait, I wanted to talk,' Steve says, but Billy is kissing his neck, teeth scraping his pulse in the way that always drives him crazy.

Fuck it. They can talk later.

Steve lets Billy push him onto the sofa, and straddle him, Billy's clothes cold and wet under Steve's hands. He tips his neck to the side so Billy can suck and bite. He didn't think it could ever be like this again, but now that it is, long forgotten familiarity takes over. 

So, he doesn't think when he pushes Billy down and pins his hands—he's done it a hundred times before.

But he realises the mistake too late. It's not like it used to be. They're not like they used to be.

Billy freezes, going tense, and shoves at Steve. 'Get off of me.'

'Sorry,' Steve murmurs as he jerks back. His stomach drops.

Billy shoves again and scrambles off the couch. 'Fuck.' He fists a hand in his hair, breathing heavily.

'I'm sorry,' Steve repeats. 'I wasn't thinking. We can take it slow.'

Billy wheels around. 'I'm not a fucking girl—' He shakes his head. 'I'm not some delicate fucking flower, or some shit, OK?'

'I _know_ that—'

'Just fuck off.' Billy's hands ball into fists at his sides. 'Fuck!' He punches the wall, once, then twice. 'I just wanted to feel normal for five fucking minutes.'

A horrible weight settles on Steve. 'Hey.' He stands, moves slowly toward Billy. 'It's OK.' He touches Billy's shoulder.

'Don't.' Billy shakes Steve off. 'Don't give me that shit.'

'I only want to help.'

'Well, you can't.' Billy picks up the jacket he'd shed not ten minutes ago and turns away. 'No one can. Got it?'

Steve follows him, curls his hand around Billy's elbow, even though he knows—he _knows_ —he should let Billy go. 'Let's start over, OK? We'll watch a movie, or something…'

There is ice in Billy's voice when he says, 'Don't touch me.'

Steve's hand falls from Billy. 'I'm sorry,' he says for the third time. He doesn't mean only for today.

'Whatever,' Billy says and stalks off, with an air of finality.

It's not long before Steve hears the thud of the front door. 

He sits on the sofa, head in his hands, and says, 'I'm sorry.'

THEN

Steve slips away from his parents, disappearing into the throng of his graduating class. His mother's proud performance is growing increasingly strained, and his father's barely concealed disappointment weighs on Steve.

He dodges teachers and fellow students and makes his way outside; the sun is shining through wispy clouds, and there's a sweet soft breeze bringing the scent of freshly mowed lawn. Billy is under the bleachers, smoking, cap and gown long gone.

'Hey,' Steve says, sinking his hands into his pockets. He'd shed his own gown, not wanting to talk to Billy while wearing it, but he still feels like a dick in the outfit his mother insisted he wear: pressed slacks and shiny Italian leather shoes.

Billy looks at him, then away, taking a long drag from his cigarette. 'Hi.'

There's something cold in that one syllable and Steve falters. He'd come here looking for…solace he guesses, or a distraction. But the roiling in his gut only increases the longer Billy doesn't look at him, the longer Billy stays silent. Steve swallows. 'So, we graduated, huh?'

Billy arches a brow. 'Yeah.'

Silence falls again and Steve thinks about leaving, catching up with Billy later at Stacy's party, when Billy is hopefully in a better mood. But if Billy's like this now, he could be worse later, and Steve wants to—needs to—talk to him. Alone. So he says, 'Do you want to come over after the party, tonight? So we can talk?'

'We're talking now.'

'Yeah, but'—Steve looks back to the school—'I meant privately. More privately.'

Billy flicks his cigarette.

'So, do you want to come over?'

'Not really.'

Steve's stomach drops. 'Oh. OK. That's cool.'

Billy rolls his eyes and clenches his jaw. He takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out through his nose, then crushes the butt. It looks like he's readying himself for a fight; Steve braces himself for whatever is coming.

'This'—Billy waves a hand between the two of them—'is over.'

And there it is. The sucker punch.

'What?'

'C'mon, pretty boy. It was fun. I'm not going to say it wasn't. But we can't—' Billy draws in a long breath, nostrils flaring. He clears his throat, jaw tight and shoulders taut. 'I'm done.'

'Why?' Steve asks. He sounds desperate but he doesn't care. Things had been good. Or the same as usual, at least. There wasn't even a hint that Billy wanted to call things off. 'Did I do something? Is it…is it because I didn't get into college?' It's a stupid thing to say but Steve can't _think_. 

'I don't care if you didn't get into college. Jesus.' Shadows fall across Billy's face as he turns away. 'I've got a job, and I'm going to leave, OK? I don't need—' Billy shakes his head. 'We're done. Got it? Lose my number. Forget about me.'

They look at each other a moment, and Steve tries to think of something to make Billy stay, but then Billy moves around Steve, out of the shadows and into the sunlight.

Steve catches Billy's wrist, stopping him. 'Wait,' he says, 'can't we—'

'What?' Billy doesn't pull his hand away but his arm is tense in Steve's hold. 'Want one last blow job for old time's sake or something?'

'No.'

Billy snorts, looks to the side.

'That's not what I want from you, Billy,' Steve says. He wants Billy to ask him what he _does_ want, because he was going to tell Billy. Finally. That he wants to see what kind of future they could have, together. Because until a few minutes ago, Steve had hoped they could have one, even if he didn't know what it might look like. Even if Billy always made it clear enough they weren't boyfriends. Steve's a fucking idiot.

But Billy only says, 'That's too bad,' and walks back toward the gym.

Steve's ears ring. The world is spinning too fast and spit floods his mouth, the way it does when you're going to puke. He takes a deep breath.

It's OK. It's OK.

All he has to do is forget about Billy.

Sure.

Easy.

NOW

Steve pulls up in front of the warehouse and cuts the BMW's engine, letting his hands rest over the steering wheel. The warehouse looks like any other warehouse; if Steve didn't know better he'd think it was. It's crazy to think that Billy would come here, of all places, after everything that happened. But Steve had followed the feeling in the pit of his stomach, when he'd set out to find Billy, and it led him here.

He'd called Billy's house, wanting to sort things out, but Max had answered, told Steve Billy wasn't home. Said that Billy spends half his time holed up in his room, the other disappearing to who knows where. She had sounded both resigned and worried and it had made a sticky kind of panic well up in Steve. 

Steve could have waited for Billy to go home, or maybe come into the video store, but he's done with waiting.

His pulse thrums as he gets out of the car and approaches the warehouse, steps slow and measured. He pauses at the door, for a moment, hesitating before he shakes himself and goes inside. There's no danger here, not anymore, but the hint of adrenaline spurs him on, even as his skin prickles.

Shafts of filmy moonlight break the gloom, slanting through gaps in the high roof. A lone figure stands in the middle of one, limned in silver, completely still.

'Billy,' Steve says softly. His voice echoes. 'What are you doing here?'

There are a few moments of agonising silence as Steve waits, staring at Billy's back. Billy's shoulders are tight and his hands are clenched at his sides. When Billy speaks, he doesn't turn to Steve, and his voice is flat and careful. 'I keep asking myself that.'

Steve swallows. 'What?'

'Why I'm here.' Billy turns. His eyes are shining and his cheeks are stained with tears. 'Why didn't he take me, like he did with the others.' His voice breaks as he says, 'Why didn't he take me?'

A shiver runs down Steve's spine. 'I don't know.'

'I've never been a good person'—Billy dips his head, hair falling into his face—'but the things I did…' Billy's throat works. 'The things he made me do.'

Steve's stomach drops and his chest goes tight. He takes a step forward, holding out a hand, but he stops short. 'It's OK—'

'Don't. Don't say it's OK.' Billy's voice is desperate, his eyes pleading. 'It's not OK.'

' _Billy_.'

'It's never going to be OK.'

Nothing Steve can think to say would help, nothing he can do will make this better, right now. Billy is standing there, unravelled and exposed, and all Steve can think is how fucking useless he feels. How useless he is.

'I remember everything.' Billy makes a choked noise and buries his face in his hands, turning from Steve, shoulders quaking.

It's this that makes Steve close the distance between them, and he reaches Billy just as he buckles. Steve catches Billy and draws him back up and into his arms.

'I've got you,' Steve says. 'I've got you.'

Billy clings to Steve, shaking and crying, and Steve can't do anything but let him hold on. 'Why didn't he take me?' Billy repeats, and his voice is like the sound of glass breaking.

'I don't know.' Steve is winded by Billy's words, by how desperately Billy clings to him. It's the first time it's truly hit him that he can't comprehend what happened to Billy. Maybe he'll never know. 'But if he took you…El would be gone.' This, Steve knows. 'You saved her.'

Billy pulls away, stepping back into the shadows. 'Don't make me sound like some kind of hero.'

'You are.' Steve moves forward, cups Billy's jaw with his hands, tilts Billy's face up. 'You stood up to a fucking monster on your own.' He wipes the tears from Billy's face, thumbs sweeping Billy's cheekbones. 'You're a hero.'

Billy shakes his head, but he doesn't pull away. He turns his face, whispers, 'No,' into the soft flesh of Steve's palm, breath warm on Steve's skin.

It aches to see Billy like this—not _broken_ but hurting in a way Steve isn't sure he can reach—so Steve pulls on his elbows and Billy sinks back into his embrace. He sighs into Steve's neck, fingers digging into Steve's shoulder blades.

They cling to each other in the grimy warehouse, two boys who have seen things so few can understand, until Steve loses track of the passing of time. He could stay like this forever if only because Billy is safe in his arms. But it's cold and the scent of decay is heavy in the air, so Steve pulls back slowly, pausing to press a kiss to Billy's forehead.

Billy sniffles and pushes into the touch of Steve's lips.

There are so many things Steve wants to say. _I need you_ , and _I want to help_ , and _I want you to feel safe with me_ , but he thinks he may have said too much already. This thing between them is fragile still, and Steve doesn't want to break it. So, he only wipes the freshly fallen tears from Billy's face and says, 'Let me take you somewhere.'

'Where?' Billy asks, raw and hesitant.

Steve takes Billy's face in his hands, tilts it toward the moonlight. 'Anywhere you want, Billy,' he says, and he means it, 'anywhere you want.'

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to come find me on Tumblr [@gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) :) I’m not as active as I used to be but I’m technically back from the break I was having and my asks and all that jazz are always open! :) ~~Please come talk to me I’m lonely haha~~
> 
> Anyway, this took me three times as long to write as I thought it would but I enjoyed it so yay!
> 
> I listened to a LOT of Chris Isaak while writing this—I’m not sure if that’s relevant but I thought everyone should know.
> 
> AND because I always like to put in pointless notes about movie choices: 
> 
> I was looking through which comedies from the 70s & 80s I had seen (idk why but I usually like to pick movies I’ve seen?) for what Billy might choose and realised I haven’t seen many comedies...like at all. But when I remembered The Jerk I had to pick it just for the title haha (ETA: I was looking through screencaps of the video store scene for references for something else and there's actually a cardboard cutout advertising The Jerk! I 100% didn't notice that when I watched S3 - and I've only watched it once haha - so it's truly a coinkydink!)
> 
> And as for Clue well I’m not sure if it’d be Robin’s thing from the movies she lists as her top 3 but: 1 I haven’t seen many movies that came out in the latter half of 1985; 2 Clue is awesome so...


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